I swung a golf club today for the first time in eight months. It felt painful, and tiresome, and ugly, and wonderful all at the same time.
I parked my car at the driving range, scoped out the perfect spot among the tee boxes, and walked to the clubhouse to purchase a bucket of golf balls. Feeling over-confident and perhaps over-eager, I went against my better judgment and opted for a medium sized bucket. I quickly unloaded my golf clubs, made my way to the tee box, dumped out the yellow range balls, and picked up my pitching wedge. I placed the golf club in my hands and felt the familiar tackiness of the rubber grip. I set my feet, shifted my weight, and took a deep breath. I slowly took the club back, felt the hinge in my wrists at the top of my backswing, and changed the momentum of the iron as I began my downswing toward the ball. I heard the familiar crack as the face of the club connected with the ball, sending it hurtling into the air as my body twisted in order to complete the follow through of my swing.
"That's one," I thought to myself. The first swing of a new golf season.
It was painful, a twinge in my side developing as muscles that hadn't been used in eight months were brought back to life. It became tiresome as I swung over and over using club after club. It was ugly at times, as every now and then a shot would drift off course, never get off the ground, or come off the tee in a line drive of sorts.
Above all, it was wonderful. I forgot about the pain in my side, I shook off the fatigue, and surprisingly, there were more good shots than bad.
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